Just a Day
by 13th Dead End
Summary: Radu’s been in the Rosen Creuz Orden barely five minutes and he already hates his superior.' [ Dietrich x Radu RapeYaoi ]


**A/N**: Eh I don't really like this one… But I'm posting it because someone's making me. cough

Dietrich x Radu yaoi ahead! ; 3

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Radu's been in the Rosen Creuz Orden barely five minutes and he already hates his superior. Marionettenspieler, Dietrich von Lohengrin, Rank 83, whatever the alias. He hates him. They were only just introduced a while ago too, and as soon as Radu left the room to explore the Orden's headquarters, Dietrich had followed. He followed like the most annoying sort of pet dog; the kind that tugs at your ankle and won't let go. Just now he's leering over Radu's shoulder, being too close for comfort, that smirk making the noble just want to punch him in the face.

So, Radu slips quietly into another empty room, a study (the Rosen Creuz just seems so filled with emptiness to him) and sulks near the window. It's dark outside, middle of the night, but the Terran looks as sharp as ever. Does he sleep _at all_?

"So, Flamberg…" he starts, his voice silky, trying out the new name on his tongue. The younger Methuselah doesn't answer, just stares some more out the window, trying to erase the puppet master from his mind and line of vision. Radu wishes that Dietrich would stop dogging him with these questions of his; he's been at it for a good hour now, demanding to know more and more about him, his age, his history, reminding him snidely that he's of a lower rank and is in no place to protest against him, because that's how it works in the Orden.

Flamberg can sense that Marionettenspieler is growing increasingly annoyed with his silence and blunt answers, since he hints at 'breaking him into the Orden' with a malicious smirk, insinuates he should be punished for being such a bother. Radu tries his best to ignore him, giving snide and snappy answers back to each question.

"How'd you find the Orden, hm?"

"None of your business."

"… how old are you again?"

"Old enough."

"Don't talk back to me."

"Piss off."

"Pfft." The baron sniffs back at him, finally. "Go bother someone else; I'm sure you have better things to do."

This comment causes the puppet master's resolve to snap; or at least, that's what Radu thinks, because before he knows it, his wrists are painfully caught in the grip of translucent threads, binding them together and forcing them behind him not unlike how a policeman would cuff a criminal.

Radu utters a strangled cry of surprise and tries to turn his head to look at Dietrich again, but then he realizes the same threads have now woven their way across his throat and a hand is pressing against the small of his back, flattening his stomach to the wall.

"My, my, Flamberg. Aren't we a disobedient little boy?" the puppet master chides him like one would a small child. "And disobedient children… need to be taught a lesson." The last two words, spoken so sweetly they were akin to a choir of angels, carried such malice and danger. Radu blanched.

"Let me go, Marionettenspieler." He snarls, writhing as best he can under his bonds but only succeeding in driving shallow cuts into his wrists and neck. But Dietrich only laughs, and infernal sound, and leans close to him; way too close to be comfortable. Radu shivers in displeasure – the Terran is licking slowly across a cut on his neck, the spittle making the paper cut-like wound sting like hell.

"A Terran who likes to play Methuselah?" Radu scoffs at him, half laughing, trying to hide the fear starting to bubble up from the pit of his stomach. Dietrich only hisses in response, another hand slamming the vampire's forehead against the wall. Biting gently on his lip, Radu makes no sound. He won't give the Terran the satisfaction of it. It gets increasingly harder to make no noise, because Dietrich then starts leaning in and laying rough kisses that feel like wildfire across his neck, then along his jaw line. How had it come to this, is this punishment? It felt like it. The places where the Marionettenspieler's lips touched him burned like wildfire…

"Naughty, naughty, Flamberg…" Dietrich reprimands him, still smiling benignly. His hands, the expert hands of a puppeteer, begin to wander, slowly undoing and removing Radu's jacket, then his tie. All of this ends up on the floor, and then the baron really begins to struggle, writhing madly, because he finally realizes what his punishment will be like.

"Tch. Do you really want to deepen those cuts?" Dietrich sings, hands now slowly undoing the buttons of Radu's shirt, fingers sliding so gently along the bare skin underneath so it makes the noble shiver, even though he hates it and he hates Dietrich. Then his shirt is gone too, joining the rest of his clothes on the floor, making him feel extremely vulnerable, pathetic, and slightly embarrassed. Dietrich's hands now start traveling slowly over the Methuselah's chest, fingers tracing along the outlines of his well-defined form.

Radu gives a cat-like hiss through clenched teeth, and can't resist a shudder when Dietrich's hands pass again over him, pinpointing the sensitive areas on his chest.

"Don't complain, you like it…" Dietrich croons softly in his ear, one hand keeping up the same action while the other slips down, down down down along the gentle curve of his body, to the hem of Radu's pants. The more Dietrich moves his hands, the more Radu hates him. Radu bucks away from him, trying to tear the strings, but he feels only more of that stinging pain as they cut into him again; they're like metal, fucking metal…

Feeling utterly helpless, he tries to kick at his oppressor but discovers the threads have appeared around his ankles too; rooting him firmly to the spot. Anguish takes over him as he gives another noise of exasperation.

"Damn you, Marionettenspieler! Damn you! I hate you…" his aciduous words trail off into a seething silence, and Dietrich only chuckles.

"Such poisonous words, dear Ifrit. You don't know me yet – you will soon enough though, Flamberg."

And with that, he slips his hand down the front of Radu's pants, groping him roughly with a wicked grin. The Methuselah bucks forward involuntarily with a choked yelp of shock; he hadn't realized how aroused he himself already was, and the Terran's fingers feel like fire against the sensitive skin. Dietrich chuckles at his reaction, unrelenting in his doings, watching Radu struggle not to moan with the sheerest joy. Slowly he undoes the zipper and Radu's pants end up on the floor with everything else, and the noble feels increasingly, increasingly more embarrassed and degraded.

"I hate you. I'll always hate you…" he utters bitterly, hands clenching into fists until the knuckles turned white, then unclenching; bursts of blue fire appeared in his palms. Clucking his tongue, Dietrich simply waves a finger – just one finger – and tightens the threads around Radu's wrists so hard that blood beads forth from the cuts and drips slowly to the floor; the pain causes the Flamberg to whine pitifully and extinguish the fire.

"You can do nothing to stop me." Dietrich cackles, licking blood off of Radu's wrists. "Remember that, Flamberg." He pokes at the Methuselah's blood with something close to curiosity for a moment, and then without warning, pushes two fingers into him, lubed only meagerly with what Radu realizes with a lurch of his stomach, is his own blood. The noble gasps against his will and cringes as he's penetrated, since the shock of it goddamn _hurts_. After a few moments, it goes away, but then Dietrich starts moving his fingers, scissoring them, adding a third, subtracting the second, all in rapid succession – it makes him wince horribly, but he will not cry out. His head is resting over Radu's shoulder, lips brushing him gently the whole time.

"Incredibly tight, _Flamberg_." Came the saccharine voice again, withdrawing the fingers. Radu tenses and holds his breath; he knows what is coming next. It's unbearable for him – he's never been fucked before, except for the few times Suleyman had done it to him, what seemed like an eternity ago now. And eventually, he had found Ion, and by god, that sweet boy would always let him top, no questions asked.

"Don't look so sad." Marionettenspieler says again, voice so dulcet in comparison to his harsh, unforgiving thrust into the Methuselah's body.

Radu holds in most of his shriek of pain, but lets go of some of it; a frightened, pained yelp escapes his throat, which only serves to excite the puppet master further, because he's grinning widely now, starting to thrust back and forth ruthlessly. Radu hates the feeling; it makes him want to throw up but then again he can't resist it. The blood Dietrich had on his fingers was hardly helpful in alleviating the pain, and he was definitely much bigger and harsher than the Methuselah had imagined. Arching his back, his body presses uncomfortably into the wall, fists clenched again. He notes that the strings are gone, but Radu is shuddering too much to fight now, and he knows Dietrich is starting to make him bleed. The Baron doesn't know what to feel either; he can feel pain, hatred, lust, confusion, embarrassment in one big bundle. The only sound he's making now is a low moan at every one of the Marionettenspieler's thrusts, coupled with Dietrich's own cruel mutterings.

"I told you, Flamberg, I told you you'd enjoy it." Dietrich says pleasantly while tearing him apart, and god, for all of it he could have been commenting on the weather outside. Radu's skin is slick with sweat now, and he whines for Dietrich to stop, nearly begs him but the Terran is unrelenting. Then, suddenly again, Dietrich hits _that one spot_ and causes him to buck his hips, crying out in the disgust of his unwanted ecstasy. Grinning like a madman, Dietrich hits it again, and again, and abruptly, Radu tightens around him, mouth agape with a silent scream as he comes.

"Ah, _Flamberg_," Dietrich trills into his ear, "You're wonderful." And moments later, he's finished too, zipping up his pants, and hell, he looked as if nothing had happened at all. The Methuselah though, slumped weakly to the floor, still biting his tongue which had begun to bleed. Too tired for words, he tells Marionettenspieler what he wants to say simply through glaring- _I hate you, I hate you._

He crouches down beside Radu, patting him on the head belittlingly. "So, have we learned our lesson today, Flamberg? Because there's definitely much more to be learned if you keep up that attitude of yours." The noble doesn't answer, but turns his head the other way, still disgusted.

"Tch." Shrugs the Devil, losing interest in his toy quickly now. "I think we have." Smirk plastered back on his face full force, he leaves the room again, probably to find Isaak or another plaything of his, and Radu reminds himself that it's only the beginning of it all.

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.. Dx

Yeah, I can't write, I knowww.


End file.
